


Starfall with company

by miniCrisGM



Series: ACOTAR x ToG: The Ultimate Crossover [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, What-If, crossover between ACOTAR and ToG, man-buns, too much wine in Velaris as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniCrisGM/pseuds/miniCrisGM
Summary: Feyre suddenly receives a letter from a certain Faerie Queen of the West and decides to invite her and her court to Starfall at Velaris.*SPOILER DISCLAIMER* The action takes places after the end of both sagas, so mild spoilers along the way.





	Starfall with company

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to think about what would happen if the courts of ACOTAR and ToG met and how the characters would react. That and I wanted to write a scene with Lysandra and Morrigan.  
> My second fic!! I hope you like it!!

Velaris was buzzing with more excitement than Feyre had ever seen before.  
Well, nearly as much. She wanted to think that her first Starfall as High Lady had been slightly busier, but of course, you didn’t welcome a bunch of royals every day, so she had to admit that the animation that floated throughout the city was justified.  
She peered over the balcony at the calm waters of the Sidra. A few boats dotted its course, taking hither and thither vendors and passers-by alike. She could spot the flowers and the banners that had been put up in the main – and lesser – streets of Velaris: a mountain with three starts for the Night Court that she so loved alternating with a white deer and a black wyvern. Orynth and Adarlan, she muttered to herself. She had spent hours in the library reading about them – what little Prythian scholars had to tell her about those faraway lands. Much to her dismay, she had realised that Prythian Fae had little to no interest whatsoever in anything beyond their borders, much less in smaller human kingdoms such as those in Erilea. She had managed to dig out a few things, many related to their Fae heritage from Wendlyn, and hoped that would be enough not to make her look like a fool.  
Thankfully, Azriel had also done his part. The shadowsinger had put his best effort to the task and provided Feyre and Rhys with a fair amount of information about Erilea and its courts – and most importantly, the wars that had ravaged it just a few years prior. Feyre shuddered at the though of all the destruction Adarlan and Terrasen had seen, loudly resonating with her own experience. The young Faerie Queen of the West hadn’t had it easy. A hardened warrior and a newly crowned monarch, and, if the report to be believed, a sassy adversary even to Rhys. Despite herself, Feyre smiled. She had the feeling she was going to like this queen.  
**************************  
Rowan lunged forward with a swift, flowing motion and Aelin ducked just in time to avoid having an inch of her hair cleanly sliced off. She puffed and lurched for her mate, who was already waiting for her with a smirk on his pretty face.  
“Try not to completely ruin your face, if you wouldn’t mind!” Lysandra complained, sitting in the ship’s prow, her eyes glued to the training session that her queen and the Fae warrior were currently immersed in. “It would make for a very poor impression to arrive with our queen in ribbons, you know”.  
Aedion chuckled and Aelin maneuvered to kick Rowan in the shins. A lowly yet highly effective technique that had the male kneeling before her with a mischievous grin that she reciprocated. Lysandra rolled her eyes and got up, striding for the cabin that Rolfe had assigned to her on the ship. She hadn’t spent much of the journey on board, preferring to soar through the sky as a hawk or gliding around coral reefs as a sea dragon, but since the pirate captain – now privateer, he kept reminding them – had announced that they would arrive in a few hours, she had opted to return to her human body and get ready to spent a few days surrounded by nothing but pointy ears. She and Elide would have to stick together as the only representatives of humankind. Such a burden!  
“Don’t look at me!” Aelin threw an apologetic look her way. “It was Dorian’s idea to reach out to other Fae kingdoms and make friends.”  
“It’s not like you mind getting all nice and dressed up for the occasion” Dorian arched an eyebrow, looking away from his book for the first time in the morning. He was very obviously bored, his Witch Queen having decided to take a stroll all on her own to get a feel of the place before they docked. Aelin looked at her companions and smiled as Rowan gently passed his arms around her waist.  
As much as she loved her court, her family, she was rather nervous at what the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court might think of them. After all, she hadn’t been queen for a year yet, and still had to settle, whereas they were… real Fae. High Fae, Gavriel had pointed out, which apparently was a pompous way to say that they were disgustingly pretty and deathly powerful. She was looking forward to the meeting as much as she was dreading it. If she were to find another Maeve…  
But no. It wouldn’t happen. This… Feyre… had seemed nice enough in their correspondence. She had discussed with the cadre Dorian’s idea and Gavriel had told them about this other, near-mythical land called Prythian, full of Fae – potential allies for the newly remade kingdoms of Adarlan, Terrasen and Doranelle. Unfortunately, she didn’t know much about Prythian other than the tales that Emrys had happily sat down to tell her. It was divided into courts, ruled by High Lords, and they were insanely strong. There was another story about a war that had nearly eaten up the island, but Aelin quickly dismissed it. How could a cooking pot possibly cause so much trouble?, she reflected.  
To her surprise, the only court that had answered her missives was the Night Court. It didn’t sound like the most welcoming place in the world – she had expected Summer or Spring to be the ones to reply, but Night would do.  
The letter had come in a neat envelope with a mountain and three stars printed on it. Its tone was warm albeit a little stiff, but it gave the Queen of Terrasen the push she needed to convince her court to undertake the journey. The High Lady – Feyre – gave her instructions for a safe trip by sea, and once Rowan had agreed to it and Dorian had jumped the bandwagon, meaning that the whole crew was coming with them, they made sure everything was in order in their respective kingdoms and left – just for a few days, Aelin told herself. She and Rowan deserved a break after everything they had been through.  
Her mate kissed her cheek while combing her silky hair. She caressed his face and cupped it in her hands before kissing him back.  
And then it appeared in the horizon.  
Velaris.  
The city of dreams.  
**************************  
Azriel was the first to notice the three ships approaching the harbor with the banners of Orynth and Adarlan. A bit earlier than expected, but no harm in it, Rhysand thought to himself while Feyre and Mor ran down the stairs in excitement. He was always at his prettiest, always prepared for a surprise visit from anyone.  
He glanced at his mate and had to make an effort to actually concentrate in the coming meeting. Feyre was wearing a light green gown, open in the back and flowing in the front, clasped at her shoulders with red emerald brooches. Her tattoos snaked all over her body, making her pale body glow ever brighter, and it was all he could do not to yank her into his arms and slowly kiss her back, star by star, until he reached the end.  
He swallowed.  
Definitely not the time for these thoughts, Rhys. Feyre’s laughing voice echoed down the bond and Rhys felt a tinge of red creep to his cheeks.  
Feyre rubbed her hands together nervously as her court gathered to accompany her and her mate to receive their guests at the harbor. Short of leading Prythian’s armies against Hybern and the meeting with the rest of the High Lords, this was the first time she’d had to hold her own as High Lady of the Night Court in front of a foreign ruler. Rulers, in this case. Three of them, no less. She sure loved challenges.  
Rhys stood by her side, tall and proud and handsome as ever. He had chosen a dark suit that accentuated his rippling muscles, all of him emanating sheer power and authority, the strongest High Lord to ever have lived. He didn’t bother hiding his wings, not here in Velaris; neither did Cassian or Azriel. Feyre wondered whether any of Aelin’s companions would present such an interesting appearance as her Illyrians.  
The city sizzled with expectation. Feyre knew some people hadn’t taken very well the news of a foreign Fae queen visiting during Starfall with her court. Many doubted her intentions, half expecting another Amarantha to show up and try to enslave them. After all, hadn’t that been exactly how she had enthralled Prythian for decades? But the High Lady refused to live in fear. She believed in people’s goodness, in their ability to create a new better world. She only hoped Aelin believed in it too.  
Slowly, gently bobbing in the water, the main ship dropped anchor and a gangway joined it with the dock. Velaris went silent for a fraction of a second when she appeared, hair blond and bright, eyes turquoise and gold, shining in the midday sun as if she herself was a star.  
Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.  
Queen of Terrasen and Faerie Queen of the West.  
Feyre smiled broadly, awe growing in her chest, and extended her hand to the queen before her, her gazes locking together. Something fell in place between them, something clicked as they beheld each other.  
“Welcome to Velaris, Your Majesty”.  
Aelin returned the smile and the handshake.  
“A pleasure to finally meet you too, High Lady”.  
**************************  
“They have wings. Actual wings”.  
Fenrys muttered to himself, still quite awed with the Illyrian warriors that had welcomed them into the city. Aelin could see the sparkles in his eyes, like a small kid looking upon his childhood hero. She was also very impressed but made sure nothing gave her away; she was as proud of her court as Lady Feyre seemed to be of hers. Still, wings. Rowan could shift into a hawk, but once in Fae form he was… well, normal.  
The meeting had gone much better than expected. She had taken an immediate liking to the High Lady, as if they belonged together, and after the proper introductions and whooping from the crowed gathered to watch them, she and the High Lord had bidden them follow her to their house in the suburbs of Velaris.  
Hah, house.  
It was a bloody palace.  
Aelin gaped at the massive construction. It wasn’t monumental in the way that the glass castle of Rifthold had been and it certainly didn’t give off the same eerie, authoritarian feeling, but it was just… large. It sprawled around the turn of the river, with more rooms than Aelin could count at a first glance.  
Her court had been assigned rooms in the northern wing, with some lovely balconies overlooking the Sidra. Feyre had tactfully enquired how many rooms they were going to need, and after Elide and Lorcan had gone tomato-red and the other male named Cassian had nudged-nudged and winked at the High Lord, all had been settled. They would rest for a while and join the High Lord and Lady – and their court – for dinner.  
Aelin smirked with glee and Rowan rolled his eyes.  
“We’re gonna have fun tonight”.  
**************************  
“No wings. Do you think that reflects the size of their…?”  
Mor elbowed Cassian in the ribs enough to make the powerful warrior bend over.  
“If they have a daemati and hear you say that, I’ll feed you to Bryaxis”, replied Rhys in jest – or so he hoped.  
Rhys was deep in thought, looking at the hand he had shaken with the Queen of Terrasen. Have I met you before? she had asked, after some hesitation. He was going to answer no, but the words died in his tongue. Had he met her before? A kernel of fire flying faster than light echoed through his mind, making his dark magic rumble in response. Had he?  
“… Rhys? Rhys?”  
Feyre’s voice pulled Rhys back down to the real world. His mate was looking at him with a mixture of worry and excitement; she and Aelin Galathynius had connected immediately upon their meeting and had chatted all the way up to the town house until they parted ways to prepare everything in the House of Wind. They had considered throwing the party at the town house, but to be honest, no view of Velaris during Starfall could beat the House of Wind.  
He kissed Feyre on the brow and then on her lips to put her at ease.  
“I’m looking forward to dinner. I wonder what marvelous tales of their country they tell us. Especially from the Witch Queen. I’d never seen a witch before”, Rhys mused, taking Feyre’s hand with a soft squeeze.  
“She nearly gave poor Az a heart attack when she landed with that wyvern of hers”, Feyre chuckled. None of them had expected to see such a creature and were not prepared for the impression it caused, but that had probably been the witch’s intention, judging from the gleam in her eyes when she dismounted. The beast actually looked nice enough, like a big dog that could bite your head off if you looked at it sideways, but a dog nevertheless. It was its rider that unnerved the inner court, with her red smile and golden eyes.  
“The Witch Queen of the Wastes”, the name was a mouthful for Rhys. “What was her name again?”  
“Manon Crochan”.  
A cold, serene voice echoed at their backs. Stopping dead in their tracks, Rhys could feel a cold sweat trickle down his spine.  
Looking at them with a self-sufficient smile that didn’t reach her lips, Manon stared at the group, her white hair in a braid neatly placed over the black bejeweled gown she had chosen for the evening. On her brow lay a gleaming white crown, beautifully wrought, and she held herself with the poise of a queen – or a killer, Rhys thought. Out of the three rulers that were their guests, the witch was the only one he didn’t quite know how to place. He had to admit she gave him goosebumps.  
“I hope you’re comfortable in your quarters, Queen Manon”, Feyre interceded, trying to break the deadlock.  
“I’ve had worse”, she shrugged. Flashes of her time at Morath passed through her mind. She had indeed. “But I could do with some more space for Abraxos. My wyvern”.  
The clarification was needed when she saw the confusion in the faces of her hosts, but soon enough the tall lanky one that had nearly gutted her when she drove down from the sky with Abraxos earlier that day stepped forward and offered to help.  
“We’ll see what we can do about that. If you’ll follow me”, he said, very softy. Manon stood her ground and stared at him for what Feyre and Rhys felt like three lifetimes, and only then nodded.  
“Very well” and followed Azriel down the corridor until both of them disappeared. Feyre, Cassian, Mor and Rhys just stood there for a few more minutes, stunned, unable to move, nearly forgetting how to breathe, until Cassian spoke.  
“Bloody Cauldron, it’s as if Amren had a baby with the Bone Carver. An angry baby. I’m gonna need some wine”.  
**************************  
“I’m not sure this is wise”.  
“I’m not sure you would know wise if it slapped you in the face”.  
Lorcan grumbled under his breath but didn’t reply. He couldn’t, really. Elide chuckled softly and led her husband down the corridor. The third corridor they had traversed. God, why was this place so big? She had only wanted to snoop around a bit, but now she wouldn’t have been able to tell the way back to their room if her life depended on it. She was starting to regret her choice, but at least her limp was held at bay by Lorcan’s magic – she could be thankful for that much. She knew Lorcan was as curious as herself about these High Fae so similar yet so different from himself – not that he would ever admit to it.  
She had to confess that she felt just slightly queasy about the whole situation. Aelin had insisted so much that she came along, a familiar face, and Lysandra didn’t want to be the only human amongst beautiful immortal creatures, so in the end she had tagged along, Lorcan after her commiserating with Rowan about the agony of fine suits and silky dresses that they would have to suffer in the coming days. Yet of course, Lysandra was beautiful. Elide was… Elide. A plain girl with a limp. She had felt tiny in comparison when Aelin and Feyre met and the world had seemed to shudder in awe.  
“I swear to Hellas we have already been in this corridor”, cursed Lorcan. “I recognise those plants”.  
“I wish you had that eye for detail at Perranth, my love”, retorted Elide, opening a heavy wooden door to what she imagined would be another unending corridor, but stopped dead in her tracks when it opened into a spacious room set around a big wooden table, where a woman was deep in though in front of a four-tiered cake, apparently undecided between animal or flower decoration fondants. Her hair fell in small locks over her face, her brow glistening with sweat and her clothes a catalogue of everything she had been cooking.  
Two silent, almost invisible figures washed the dirty pans and pots in a corner, so ethereal that Elide had to blink twice to make sure they weren’t a hallucination. She took a step towards the woman, who hadn’t yet noticed her presence.  
“Just pick the bloody birds. They’re going to eat it, not put it up on the wall”.  
Elide jumped at the cold, unnerving voice that cut through the kitchen. A fourth woman stood near another door to the room, at the other end of where Elide and Lorcan now stood. She looked similar to the one baking the cake, just colder, sharper… deadlier. Good lord, Elide thought, it’s like Lorcan but with breasts.  
“No swearing in my kitchen”, the first one said, raising a finger as in warning.  
“For god’s sake, Elain, just pick the birds. Apparently one of them can shift into a hawk or some sort of chick. As if we didn’t have enough weirdos around”.  
“There are some humans too, you know”, Elain replied softly. Nesta scoffed and suddenly went still as ice.  
“Yes, I know. Two of which are into the business of eavesdropping, obviously”.  
Elide went red and approached them, trying to make up for her unwitting discourtesy, but the one named Elain didn’t give her time for it. She jumped up from her seat, not caring that her hands were covered in dust and caramel, and extended her hand towards Elide. She was absolutely beautiful in a serene and calm way that made Elide want to shove her head in her chest and stay there for the rest of her life.  
“Nice to meet you! My… my name is Elain Archeron. I’m Feyre – I mean the High Lady’s sister. This”, she signalled to the other female, her hands crossed over her chest and a perpetual frown in her face, “is my other sister Nesta”.  
“I’m Elide Lochan, lady of Perranth”, she blushed slightly at the feeling of those words coming out of her mouth. She still wasn’t used to saying it and was extremely self-conscious that she didn’t look like a grand lady in the least. But Elain didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes lit up at Elide’s friendliness and she smiled timidly. Suddenly Elide remembered the lumbering male that stood right behind her, too awkward to say anything in that room full of females and probably wishing he had stayed in his quarters. “This is my husband, Lord Lorcan Lochan”.  
A sudden outburst of laugh echoed through the chamber, and all three of them, Elain, Elide and Lorcan turned towards Nesta, who was holding her stomach bent over herself.  
“You’re joking, right?” she snorted. Lorcan stepped forward.  
Oh gods.  
“No”, he replied curtly. “Do you have a problem with my name?”  
Nesta stepped towards him, challenge in her eyes, one step per every word that came out of her mouth.  
“Not at all. Lord. Lorcan. Lochan”.  
By now they were mere centimetres apart. Elide stared with horror. It was like watching two apex predators circle each other in a fight for leadership. Only in this case one had happily pissed in the face of the other.  
Seconds turned to hours. Even Hellas himself would’ve shit his pants with the raw energy that emanated from Nesta and Lorcan, just staring down at each other, until a pale hand came between them and broke their pissing contest.  
“Enough is enough!”, Elain said, as sternly as she could. She knew Nesta would back down if she asked, but she wasn’t completely confident about this Lorcan character. “You’re making Lady Elide uncomfortable. And you’re making me uncomfortable. So either learn how to behave like adults or get out”.  
To Elide’s surprise, both Fae stepped back in line, retreating to their former positions. They did shoot glances at each other, but the deadly tension that had impregnated the room was gone. She breathed in, only just realising she had been holding her breath. Elain put her hair back in a bun and looked at Elide again. She clearly wasn’t afraid of her. Even like this, with this… body. For the first time in months, Elain let herself hope. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all. Maybe…  
“Lady Elide…”  
“Just call me Elide, please”, she smiled. Elain returned the gesture, her heart aflutter.  
“Elide, do you like baking?”  
“I do, yes! Not that I’m very good at it, but…”  
“What do you think then”, Elain dragged Elide to the half-baked cake on the table and holding up to her face two sugar figures, “birds or flowers?”  
**************************  
The dinner party was going as well as could be expected. It was pretty obvious that most of their guests from Erilea had been brought up in a courtly environment: nearly all of them could sing, dance, play an instrument or all three of them at the same time. Mor downed her third wine glass of the evening. If she continued at this rate, she would be doing a handstand by the end of the night. Not that she minded, really.  
She was quite relieved that the black beast the white-haired Witch Queen had brought along was monopolising Azriel’s attention. He had not been told that Manon Blackbeak would not be arriving by ship but by a rather more… unorthodox transportation method, and he was ensuring that all the security measures were in place. Mor suspected that he was quite fascinated by the creature, which he couldn’t blame him for; Abraxos was quite something. The Witch Queen was very obviously exceedingly proud of him and Mor was glad that someone like Azriel was looking after him. She should probably go keep him company in a while.  
A burst of laughter came from one side of the table, where Aelin Galathynius was tapping her mate on the shoulder, cracking up at something Rhys had said. Feyre and Rowan exchanged glances and Mor could only contain a chuckle. Oh god, she could imagine them thinking, there’s two of them.  
It was the first Starfall that so many people were gathered in the House of Wind, and for some reason her usual liveliness was somewhat dimmed. She did like their guests, of course, but she didn’t want to have to put on again the mask that she had spent so many years slowly trying to peel off with her inner circle. She drank a fourth glass, getting her face even more flushed. By the Cauldron, this is some good shit.  
She needed some fresh air. Trying not to attract too much attention, she sneaked away to the nearest balcony, an ample expanse from where the whole of the Sidra and Velaris’ night lights could be seen in all their splendour. To her surprise, she wasn’t the only one who had had that idea.  
“Lady Morrigan”, Lysandra greeted her with a head movement. Mor swallowed.  
She hadn’t really paid much attention to the human companion that had descended the ship following the Queen of Terrasen – to be fair, it was hard to tear her eyes from Aelin herself. But now she feared she had been missing the best part of the party. She racked her brains in search of the name of the beautiful mortal, so different to Andromache and yet…  
“Lady Lysandra”, she replicated the greeting. She walked silently towards her, taking a seat on the empty stone railing next to the shifter. Lysandra was wearing a dark green dress, close-fitted and embroidered at the seams; the front covered all the way up to her throat, elegantly marking out her figure, her swanlike neck and her collarbone, but the back was completely open, falling in ripples at the side and exposing just enough skin that Mor felt her palms begin to sweat. She was very proud of her red and black gown – one of her favourites, as it brought out the light in her hair –, but Lysandra made her feel almost inadequate.  
“Not a fan of parties, are you?”, asked Mor, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that her arrival had produced. Lysandra scoffed.  
“I’ve been in too many already. Not very fond of court life, I am”. Mor looked at her, unsure how to take her words. Wasn’t she practically the Hand of the Queen? Why did she dislike the court so much?  
“I was… not a lady before”, Lysandra explained, reading Mor’s uneasiness in her face. “I’ve seen enough”.  
“Ah”. Mor understood. Indeed, she must have seen more than enough. Her mind flew over to the Court of Nightmares and she shuddered. But it just didn’t feel right for such a beautiful woman to be alone and sulking in such a beautiful night. “I don’t know what your life was like before, and I’m certainly not going to judge”, she began, gently, and continued when Lysandra raised her eyes at her, curious. By the gods, did she have beautiful eyes. “But Velaris is so much more than you imagine. And our court is… well… more of a family than a court. Very much like yours, from the look of it.”  
Lysandra looked back at the room. Aelin and Feyre laughed by the table, while Rowan and Rhysand chatted leisurely with Aedion and Cassian, Fenrys ate everything he could marvelling at the food that just kept appearing on the plate, and Elide and Lorcan had a rather lively conversation with the two other Archeron sisters – by the gods, there is someone capable of standing up to Lorcan. I hope it ends up in a catfight. Yes, the Fae female was right. She did have a family now.  
She smiled, love for Aelin and the others filling her face, and Mor felt her knees buckling beneath her.  
“Come with me”. She took a surprised Lysandra by the hand and pulled her tight with a wicked grin. “There’s something you should see”.  
She winnowed them to the topmost floor of the House of Wind. Lysandra touched ground again with a little screech, her eyes wide in surprise. Mor chuckled and gently let her go.  
“What was that??”  
“We call it winnowing. Easy way of transportation, especially for those of us who don’t have wings. Careful, you might a little bit nauseated”, her warning came too late, as Lysandra stumbled with a fit of dizziness and started to fall over, but Mor swiftly caught her, moving in that smooth yet powerful way that High Fae accustomed to. Despite herself, Lysandra couldn’t help blushing.  
Mor looked right into her eyes, their faces too close by any reckoning. She could feel the shifter’s breath on her cheeks and her skin on her fingers. Lysandra didn’t look away.  
Mor swallowed and let go.  
“See here, this is what I wanted to show you”, she approached the balcony, several hundred meters of free fall beneath them, and gestured downwards. Lysandra gulped, imagining a fall from that height – she had fled way higher as a wyvern in the battle of Orynth, but still, it made her queasy. She stepped towards the balcony and turned her sight in the direction of Mor’s hand.  
Her jaw fell open.  
Below her, spread like a creature of light and dark, was Velaris. She could see the torches that its inhabitants had lighted for Starfall, burning bright, their shadows dancing upon the banners lined up in the streets. She could hear the music, the laughter, the dancing. If she stretched out her hand, she could almost touch the mirth, the sheer happiness that Velaris exuded.  
She had never seen anything so beautiful.  
Mor watched her, a half smile tucking at her lips. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had felt the sudden urge to show the shifter this view which she knew to be the most beautiful: the nightly beauty of the Sidra snaking through the sea of lights that was Velaris on Starfall was unparalleled. And, for the first time since Andromache, she wanted to share it with someone.  
Lysandra’s face was partially obscured by her hair, falling down in ripples over her shoulders, and without even stopping to think about it, Mor stretched out her hand, longing to bury her fingers in its bronzy silk.  
On that very moment Lysandra turned and their eyes met. Mor turned a fiery red at having been caught and quickly lowered her arm, but to her surprise Lysandra just smiled, a calm, serene smile that her worn face hadn’t seen in a long time.  
“Thank you”, she whispered. “It’s beautiful”.  
“You’re beautiful”, Mor blurted out and immediately regretted. Lysandra stared back at her, slightly stunned, and Mor wanted to rip her own tongue off. “I mean, you look beautiful. Well, you look beautiful because you are beautiful. Not that beauty is all that matters, though, I’m not saying looks are the only thing you’ve got. I mean – bloody Cauldron, I should just shut up”.  
Lysandra threw back her head and roared in laughter. Mor looked for the closest stone to hide under and never come out again.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, Lysandra wiped a small tear out of the corner of her eye, still chuckling, and took a step closing the distance between her and Mor. “You’re really sweet”.  
Mor swallowed and then the first stars appeared.  
Running through the firmament, they illuminated the whole Night Courts. Hundreds, thousands of them filled the sky, spirits traversing the night sky in search of a new home. Mor and Lysandra stood together, necks craned upwards, light flittering in their eyes. But Mor had seen Starfall enough times to know its beauty by heart, and this year the magnificence of the wandering blazes was dwarfed by the woman that stood next to her. Slowly, she turned her head to her side and found Lysandra staring right into her eyes.  
Her heart jumped in her chest and heat burned her cheeks. Oh, what the hell. Carpe diem, bitch.  
“Can I kiss you?”  
Lysandra smiled.  
“I was waiting for you to ask”.  
Mor traced Lysandra’s cheek with a finger, lazily, taking in the smoothness of her skin, the sharpness of her features, the sheer beauty of the shifter. She caressed her lips with her thumb and passed her left arm around Lysandra’s waist. The shifter held her breath as she inched closer to Mor and tipped her head up to reach her lips. Mor felt any restrain she had snap.  
She took Lysandra’s mouth in hers, hungrily, and the shifter opened for her. She felt her hands roam over her body, tangling in her hair, her hips, her thighs. Lysandra moaned slightly and Mor pressed the shifter’s body even closer to hers.  
When they finally took a breath and drew apart, they were both sweaty, panting, their dresses disheveled, but there was a fierce gleam in both their eyes.  
“That was… intense”, Lysandra muttered, gently touching her ruined hairstyle.  
“I…”, Mor was at a loss for words. How could she possibly explain how much this had meant, being able to be herself, freely, to take off the mask that she wore even before her best friends? But Lysandra didn’t give her a chance to keep doubting herself. She looked Mor in the eye and took her cheeks in her hands. Mor’s heart skipped a beat and before she could help herself she was brushing her lips against Lysandra’s. The shifter moved her hands to caress Mor’s blonde locks and she nearly melted. The falling stars above lighted their faces and Mor wished she could freeze that moment in time.  
It turned out that wouldn’t be necessary.  
“I think I like you”, Lysandra said.  
Mor smiled with mirth as she had never smiled before and passed her arms over Lysandra’s shoulders. Down below, in the halls of the House of Wind and in the streets of Velaris, music echoed and raised up to the skies, and Morrigan and Lysandra danced, for nothing else mattered that night.  
**************************  
“You have to be joking”.  
Dorian frowned, his face jolting from his friend’s face to the High Lord’s, who was sprawled on a chair in front of him with a glass of wine in his hand and a self-sufficient grin on his face. Aelin shot him an apologetic look while Chaol turned towards Yrene, who nodded to indicate him that she would take no sides on this.  
“Come. On”, Dorian mouthed and spat out the words, strutting to and fro his companions. He swirled around himself and ended with a gracious bow that had even Manon snorting. “Is this”, he motioned up and down his body, “really not better than that??”, he pointed at Rhys, whose wicked smile became even broader.  
“It’s not like that, Dorian…”, Chaol tried to intercede.  
“Yes it is. 100%”, interrupted Manon, chewing at a chicken wing. Dorian’s jaw dropped open while Aelin tried to hold her laughter. The king couldn’t quite believe that he was being betrayed by his best friend and his lover. Rhys, on the other hand, had puffed his chest so much that Feyre though his ribcage might fly out.  
“I’m sorry, dear, but you can’t compete with High Fae beauty. No offense meant, but you’re still human”.  
“Oh, offense fully meant”, Dorian locked horns with Rhys. Feyre and Aelin looked at each other and roared in laughter. At some point of the evening, the conversation had veered towards the off-the-charts attractiveness of the Fae males, which Feyre and Aelin discussed with passion, both of them having met their respective mates while in human bodies. Of course, Dorian had quickly butted in bravely defending the beauty of human men, to which Rhys had merely scoffed, and thus the confrontation had begun.  
Rhys started to unbutton his shirt, adamant to proving his point with his toned abs, and Dorian stirred when he noticed how Aelin and Manon dangerously tittered to the edge of their seats, but then Cassian and Fenrys walked in.  
The room went silent.  
The two Fae smirked and spread their arms, star-like.  
“Ta-da!”  
“What is that?”, Aelin whispered.  
With a dramatic gesture, Fenrys pointed towards his hair, which was done in a neat bun on top of his hair.  
“Latest Night Court fashion, I am told”.  
“Come on, Your Majesty, you can’t expect him to fight with his hair in his face. Man-buns are your best friends!”, Cassian explained, but Aelin shook her head.  
“No, no, I mean what is thaaaaat”.  
The former assassin pointed to Fenrys and Cassian’s wrists, where twin braided bracelets rattled with every move of the Fae males. They were identical: black and green, with a few interspersed stones; Feyre thought she had seen the stall where they were produced, in the open-air market right next to her painting studio. Was that where Cassian and Fenrys had been up until now? Prowling the streets in search of matching jewellery and braiding each other’s hair?  
Laughter filled the room and the High Lady thought she saw a slight blush rise to her friend’s cheeks.  
“Well, I’m glad that this meeting has served to create such a lasting bond!”, she laughed, and added before either Cassian or Fenrys could complain, “and I think, gentlemen, your contest is over”.  
Feyre and Aelin looked at each other mischievously and grinned.  
“Fenrys is the clear winner”.  
**************************  
The two young queens walked to the highest balcony of the House of Wind, the tails of their dresses riveting over the stairwell that took them there. Rhys and Rowan stayed behind, chatting lively but also with the conscious aim of giving them some space.  
They strolled calmly, breathing in the fresh night air. Springtime in Velaris was surprisingly mild for Aelin, who had imagined a much colder climate so far up north, and she was delighted in the way the wind kissed her naked shoulders. The myriad of blazing lights that crossed the sky above only contributed to making the experience even more magical. She was glad she had come and could only wish for Terrasen to be as full of life and mirth someday as Velaris was.  
She and Feyre had talked at length during the dinner, discussing the histories of their respective kingdoms and their less-than-civil opinion of evil Fae queens. They realised they shared a love for dancing and for flowing gowns, and Feyre promised to teach Aelin to pain if she ever agreed to visit Velaris in summer.  
“Thank you for inviting us here”, Aelin said to the High Lady, poised upon the balcony.  
“Thank you for reaching out to us!”, Feyre replied, and she was glad at heart that Aelin had done it. She could feel a strong connection to the Queen of Terrasen, and without even thinking about it she held Aelin’s hand. Aelin stirred but didn’t break free and let the small ember of fire left in her warm Feyre’s hand to indicate she was fine.  
They had both fought and lost, they had been broken and remade, and they were stronger than ever. Two queens for two new worlds. Queens of fire and darkness, of light and stars.  
Rhys and Rowan caught up with them, their mates, glowing with power and love.  
And they danced, under the falling stars, dreaming of this new, better world.


End file.
